End Game

Jun. 15th, 2011 09:20 pm
amy_rashelle: (Krylov Mansion)
He could hear muffled gunfire in the background. Shouts and angry Russian batted back and forth overhead. Greg didn't focus on any of it. The exhaustion that had overwhelmed him was so complete that he was fairly certain no one would ever be able to wake him from it. He'd stopped moving his hands, weighed down by the chains and lack of blood circulation. He couldn't feel where his skin met with the ground anymore. The cold had numbed him to any sensations.

Someone was moving him gently. He didn't bother helping or fighting. This was it. It was about bloody time. He'd been waiting a week to die. What had taken them so long? As long as they made it bloody fast, he'd be all right. None of this Russian tongue cutting out business. One bullet to the temple. Clean, quick. The death any man in the service hoped for.
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amy_rashelle: (Yours to Keep)
The Old Man was getting tired of Greg’s voicemail. He’d stressed time and again that they never let the phone go to voicemail. If he called then it was bloody important and they needed to pick up. He slammed the phone down as Greg’s voice melodiously asked him to leave a message. Where was the little prick? He’d been home from Moscow for nearly two weeks and had checked in once.

“Of all the bloody cheek,” he muttered under his breath. He picked up the phone again and waited as the ringing connected him to his secretary. “Tell communications that I want a GPS lock on Gregory Harris right now. And call in Kingston.”

“Yes, sir,” she said quickly.

Communications called him ten minutes later.
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